Un encuentro fortuito entre la cajera de un supermercado y un antiguo amigo remueve el pasado y hace aflorar a la superficie recuerdos enterrados, deseos prohibidos y reprimidos, identidades acalladas y borradas del mapa. Cleary y Tim, que no se habían vuelto a ver desde el instituto, se van de copas juntos y van a pasar la noche charlando de su pasado, de sus relaciones, de sus decisiones, desenredando verdades y mentiras
No, it is not about how your friends make you come out to the bar to listen to their problems when you'd rather be home reading a book.
Well, maybe a little.
But it's also about time and friendship and honesty and pain and self-respect and how near-impossible it can be to understand yourself, much less other people.
(the guy in question is sobbing in the toilet while this conversation is taking place.)
My first experience with Parrish’s work. This is a beautifully drawn and painted story, beautifully produced by Fantagraphics, of two old friends who haven’t seen each other for some time. They spend the evening drinking in the process of catching up, moving from bar to bar, just talking, which involves relating stories of failed relationships, mostly. The man is gay, or possibly bi-, and he is engaged to be married (to a woman), but he seems pretty clearly closeted. They don’t seem to know, really. It feels like a kind of rootless twenty-something lost searcher story, where in the middle of things is their long, complicated friendship. They were best friends; could they have ever been lovers? What is the lie and how are they now spinning it to and with each other?
In the process he finds and reads (while he is in the bathroom) a black and white graphic novel about someone who performs in drag at a strip club and dates a client and deals with the complications of that. The depictions of almost all the characters in both books (including the book-within-a-book) are kind of large and sexually ambiguous, shifting. It’s a story of queer desire and fluidity in identity and friendship, and I liked it very much. It’s really beautiful and thought-provoking.
This is larger than most graphic novels, which really gives a lot of space for the art to be seen. And since the artist is using paint as their medium, it's nice to have the space. The shape of the people is interesting, very large bodies with smaller heads that aren't always clearly gendered, which works for the story being told. Two friends encounter one another after not seeing each other for a while and end up in an awkward catch-up situation, but there is also a graphic novel within the novel that is more like line drawings in black and white - something one of the characters finds on the ground outside a bar.
not gonna lie. one of the reasons i read this is because it shares a title with a song by my favorite band, yo la tengo. it's a beautiful phrase, right? so evocative.
i could definitely understand this book's art style being a deterrent for some readers. the humans are painted as large, abstract, blobby figures, and the coloring shifts from panel to panel. not my favorite, but i tried to go with the flow and let it contribute to the surreal vibe.
it's an interesting short graphic novel, formatted with a graphic novella within it. the main characters picks up the novella twice during the story, so we alternately experience both stories.
it's a slice-of-life about friends reconnecting after years apart, discovering what has changed and what hasn't. the discomfort of seeing evidence of how much time has elapsed, and how much growth has (or hasn't) occurred.
at the end of the book, after a strange night and an awkward goodbye, our main character rides the train home alone and finishes reading the graphic novella within the book. it ends on an odd note. she exhales, "huh," and gets off the train. and i imagine that's the same reaction parrish wants from their readers?
you experience the story. you say "huh." and you move on.
двоє старих знайомих, які давно не спілкувалися, випадково зустрічаються, вибираються на вино, спотикаються об недомовки з попередніх життів, згадують, чому їхнє спілкування припинилося, і навіть, здається, підходять до якогось майже усвідомлення своїх глибоко закопаних проблем, хоча сумнівно, що вранці це усвідомлення з ними залишиться чимось більше, ніж похмільним дискомфортом, бо ж так зазвичай і буває з прозріннями, каталізатором для яких стала третя пляшка вина. і воно таке достатньо ні про що, щоб на ці сто двадцять сторінок без втрат для розгортання історії зміг іще вміститися графічний роман у графічному романі, який, можливо, важливіший за обгортковий текст, але це не точно.
A pair of estranged friends hang out and argue about love and sex. One friend picks up a stray comic and reads it. The comic is included.
Maybe this comic-within-a-comic is supposed to tie in to the main plotline? I doubt it. The Lie and How We Told It is more art than story - and I wasn't particularly keen on the art. Not worth reading unless you're real excited about meandering nothingness.
We follow our two protagonists around town as they meet years after school and try to catch up. They chat about life, other people, sexuality, time, other people...the usual catching up. It is unfortunate when one of them realises how the other hasn’t changed much since their school days. I felt that eternal pinch of trying to reconnect with old friends only to realise that the train left the station years ago and now you’re on completely different tracks and not responsible whether the one coming towards you actually breaks down. Sometimes you just have to move on. It also consists of a frame narrative which echoes this emotion of moving on from someone who isn’t who you hoped they were. The writing flows and the art is immensely beautiful. I can imagine why this took the artist a year and a half. Gouache can be a bitch.
What a tangled, interesting, and beautifully illustrated (painted?!) graphic novel. The themes of gender, friendship, connection, and trajectories are realistic and well done, showing how people change over time and how they don't and the confusion of aging, life, and relationships.
Tommi Parrish is a crazy talented genius and one of the best comic artists working today. This is a must read and will undoubtably be one of the best comics published this year
Parrish's unconventional methods of storytelling is what drives this narrative, particular their visual style. It creates a kind of drama in, what looks on the surface, to be a story with little plot or action.
It's a physically big book - more than 8.5x11, more than 100 pages (so not super thick, but substantial). The front cover you can see a bit of here. The back cover is this really lovely collage of photographs (mostly of trees, so maybe I'm biased). Inside there are two extremely distinct styles of illustration/comic art. The framing style, that starts and finishes the book, is full color, painted, quite similar to the front cover. Wide variety of panel layouts, striking color combinations, super distinctive figure illustration, cool speech bubble finesse at times. Then, one of the characters starts reading another work, which makes up the second piece. This section is drawn very simply. One big square panel on the left page, one big square with a line or two of text on the right page. Black lines on white background, mostly.
In both styles, the figures generally have large bodies and small heads. Particularly in the framing style, there are lots of times when the same characters are drawn quite differently, panel to panel. But this feels artful, not careless. There is thought here. It feels extra notable that these characters have big bodies because the plotline in the second narrative revolves around a stripper going home with a client. We don't often see stories where sexualized bodies are large. This felt new.
Accessible while aesthetically interesting and experimental feeling. And very very queer.
This is spectacularly beautiful and heartbreaking. There are two stories contained within: two old friends meet by chance and end up drinking together, revealing how much they've changed and what's stayed the same. Interspersed with this are pages from a graphic novel one of the characters finds, which tells in black and white line drawings the story of someone who performs in drag at a strip club and their experience dating a client.
Parrish's artwork is straight-up amazing -- these blocky, sort of ambiguously gendered figures, either painted or drawn with amazing precision. There's all this experimentation with layering and translucence and opacity in the art that makes it fascinating to look at. The storytelling is painfully accurate and occasionally funny, in the way that awkward conversations in clubs are funny.
There it was in the library's new release section, the style and energy of the cover catching my eye. I'm always up for a good graphic novel, and so, well, I gave it a whirl.
It was, hmmm. Not a sweeping narrative, nothing grand scale at all. Nor was the art style highly refined and technical.
But it worked. As a narrative within a narrative, it explores questions of identity, misunderstanding, and human sexuality, it was remarkably...authentic. Meaning, nothing spectacular. No wild epiphanies. No moments of wow. Just human beings, with all of their capacity for misunderstanding and ambiguity. If anything, the abstracted style deepened the humanity of it...an odd paradox, but a testament to both the writing and the aesthetic sensibility driving the images.
Both sharp and wistful. I connected with it more than I'd thought I would.
This one I did not understand. First it was hard to tell if the characters were a man or a woman. It was very confusing to my brain because I kept trying to understand the characters through this lens. However after I gave up on that, I still did not understand the characters actions. All I knew was that one character, who I believe is a female read an interesting book she found waiting for her friend. The book discusses how a stripper has a difficult time finding true love. Not sure what to say about this story because I need someone else to explain it to me.
Knap debuut van de Australische Tommi Parrish: originele en vloeiende grafiek, maar het verhaal en de verteltrant zullen niet iedereen kunnen bekoren. Er zitten hier en daar nog wat kinderziektes smetjes op het geheel te werpen (continuïteit is essentieel, zeker wanneer het tattoos betreft), maar de moed, de souplesse en de durf die Parrish hier aan de dag legt maken dat stripliefhebbers haar beter in de smiezen houden.
I wish I could tear out the pages and frame them. Beautiful color and simple perspectives. Slice of life is the best because it is just these weird, silent tender moments that sometimes make an irrevocable difference in our lives. 😎 Very modern/now.
with colorful and surreal illustrations and a story within a story, Tommi Parrish creates a sudden meet of old friends, and navigates masculinity, internalized homophobia and more, while the reader barely gets to know the characters as whole; an aspect i really admired, as it makes the characters feel realistic and believable. The art style was incredible, it is one that you would go back to in an art gallery so that you could take a second look and think deeper. the story was a bit confusing but overall this graphic novel was enjoyable :)
Interesantno koncipirana grafička novela koja se bavi temama samospoznaje i prihvatanja samog sebe, međutim umetnički stil i način na koji je novela oslikana mi nimalo nije prijao. Žao mi je što makar u mojim očima sve ovo nije izgledalo lepše, što je čudno obzirom da me je naslovnica u startu i privukla. Taj prostor popunjuje priča, koja, iako specifično ispripovedana, ima težinu i ostavlja jak utisak.
Tommi Parrish (Melbourne, 1989), conocida en varios países por su carrera artística como pintora y su álbum de relatos cortos Perfect Hair, ha debutado en el mundo de la novela gráfica con La mentira y cómo la contamos. Publicada en España por Astiberri, la obra ha generado elogios y altas expectativas a su alrededor. Cleary y Tim son dos viejos amigos que se reencuentran casualmente en la caja de un supermercado. Hace mucho que no se ven y salir para tomar algo y ponerse al día. Durante su encuentro, transcurrido en una sola noche, los dos protagonistas deambulan y pasan la velada charlando de su pasado, de sus relaciones y de sus elecciones vitales. Asistimos de espectadores al repaso de sus vidas tras su intensa amistad durante el instituto y a sus vanos intentos de justificar algunas de las decisiones tomadas. La mentira y cómo la contamos es una obra que avisa de su contenido e intenciones ya desde el propio título. Poniendo el peso principal en la ambigüedad del género y los conflictos de identidad sexual, la novela gráfica trata, en segundo plano y con sutileza, sobre la decepción vital ante los propios autoengaños, sobre cómo cambia (o, al contrario, cómo no cambia) la gente y sobre la falta de educación emocional que ha marcado a varias generaciones. El aspecto gráfico es uno de sus puntos relevantes. La autora nos deslumbra con coloridos dibujos a gouache y pocas palabras. Sus viñetas están repletas de personajes grandes, algo extraños, con pequeñas cabezas y sexualidad ambigua. Y como contrapunto a ello, una segunda historia intercalada: el libro que lee uno de los personajes, Cleary, en riguroso blanco y negro y sin prácticamente tramas ni artificios. Este relato dentro del relato, la historia de la ruptura de una pareja arrastrada por el tedio, actúa de complemento a la historia de los protagonistas. No es ni novedoso ni rompedor, pero efectivo. Aunque quizá la autora brilla más, por el tono utilizado, en la historia ‘real’ que en la de ficción. Estamos ante un comic de historia sin conclusión ni desenlace argumental. Se trata de una de esas lecturas en las que hay que dejarse impregnar por los silencios incómodos entre los personajes y el estado de ánimo que desprenden. Una novela gráfica no indicada para lectores que buscan relatos conclusivos, con un final cerrado, que nos cuenta una historia que ya nos han contado muchas veces. Pero que aun así deja poso y merece sin ninguna duda su lectura. La mentira y cómo la contamos le valió a Parrish cuatro nominaciones a los prestigiosos premios Ignatz en 2018: a mejor artista, mejor novela gráfica, mejor historia y mejor nuevo talento. El tiempo dirá si llegará a convertirse en obra de referencia o si su fama quedará diluida entre la gran cantidad de títulos publicados.
Nie mam ostatnio serca do komiksów, czuję rozczarowanie formą i niedosyt treści, nawet w tytułach uważanych za wybitne, dlatego do “Kłamstwa i jak to robimy” Tommi Parrish podchodziłem ze sporą rezerwą. A skończyło się na wchłanianiu książki jakbym liter nie widział od miesiąca.
Cleary pracuje na kasie w markecie i jest naprawdę zaskoczona widząc znad kontuaru Tima, szkolnego kolegę. Długo się nie widzieli i decydują się pójść po pracy na piwo. Zwykła sytuacja, niezwykła rozmowa, w której bohaterowie decydują się opowiedzieć sobie prawdę na swój temat. Kim są - homo, hetero, bi? Czego (lub kogo) szukają? Jak kłamali? Nie mówią dlaczego kłamali - to wydaje się być oczywiste. Historia jest przerywana komiksową etiudą o miłości niezbyt romantycznej, zawiedzionej i w jakiś sposób zdradzonej. Można by opisać ten komiks w kilku zdaniach, ale wolę wam zasugerować akcję, bo jego siła tkwi właśnie w jej pozornej oczywistości, życiowej mądrości a jednocześnie smutnej, melancholijnej atmosferze.
Żyjemy w kłamstwie. Osoby nieheteronormatywne wiedzą doskonale o czym piszę i doskonale odnajdą siebie w tym komiksie. Zawsze jest ktoś, kogo okłamaliśmy. Prawda niekiedy jest trzymana w ukryciu, czasem ujawniania w nielicznym, zaufanym gronie. Nasza seksualność jest źródłem kłamstwa i niepokoju. Jednocześnie - zdaje się mówić Parrish - ujawnianie prawdy nie jest zawsze konieczne, kłamstwo jest usprawiedliwione, zrozumiałe, a czasem nawet konieczne. Jednocześnie wiem, że z konstruowania życia na kłamstwie można uczynić cnotę, a dramatyczna wręcz obrona kłamstwa założycielskiego wciąga w świat obłudy kolejne osoby. Czy można żyć w prawdzie? Pewnie nie, ale można próbować, by po latach, gdy się spotkamy przypadkowo w supermarkecie móc sobie spojrzeć prosto w oczy.
“Kłamstwo i jak to robimy” to kolejny, po “Panterze” komiks, który niepokoi i który pokazuje w jakiś sposób, że liczy się nie tylko akcja, ciekawa opowieść, ale i powrót do plastyczności, kreski, barwy i zamysłu artystycznego. Fantastycznie narysowany, zróżnicowany i mądry - bardzo polecam!
Love love love the art of this - Parrish's use of colours and stylized human anatomy is unlike anything I've ever seen before. It won't be for everyone, but I personally really liked it.
The story follows two characters, a young man and woman, who were once friends in high school but hadn't seen each other in years. On a whim, the two decide to go out for a drink to catch up. The conversation between the two is what makes up the plot. It's very nuanced and is just as much about what is said as what isn't while delving into queer identity. It's accomplished and not at all BAD, but wasn't in line with my personal tastes. I'm excited to see what Parrish does next. :)
I discovered Tommi Parrish while reading about another comic artist and I am glad I did. In The Lie and How We Told It, Parrish talks about queer desire and identities, and also friendship. They do this with incredible artwork in panels through which the poignant thoughts flow so well, it's hard not to be immersed in the characters' minds. It has also has a book within the book, again done wonderfully. If there's a queer artist I am getting behind, it is Tommi Parrish.
Read and re-read a few times over the last month and I still don't think I'm done being held by the longing and the inevitable wave of change brought on by time and distance to people. It's also hard to described what it's like when you've been following an artist on tumblr for years and then getting to hold their hardcover graphic novel in your hands.
The art has a new good aesthetic but the visual storytelling is a bit unclear. I did enjoy the small scale personal story that hits some big themes very well. And the comic within a comic was both well done and did a good job of echoing and clarifying them themes.
It was okay, a bit flat with the guy's entitlement and childishness, a bit realistic with the character's disappointing evening, a bit sad with the guy's internalized homophobia, a bit interesting with the drawing style, but ultimately forgettable.
As a guest editor for Illustrated PEN, I chose an excerpt from this gorgeous graphic novel back in June for Pride month, check it out: https://pen.org/tommi-parrish-illustr...